My Dearest Friend
by Lucretia Skelington
Summary: Daniel faces losing his friend...and failing his daughter. Part 3 of 3. Complete
1. Default Chapter

Fess Parker and 20th Century Fox own the rights to the characters created for the TV show Daniel Boone. No copyright violations are intended. This work of fiction is solely for the enjoyment of DB fans. I promise to treat the characters gently, and if the going gets a bit rough, I'll (eventually) make it all better.

_One of the most enjoyable aspects of fanfiction is taking characters in directions you would normally never see them go. This is one such example. Part 1 is in the form of letters written by Daniel Boone's almost 15 year old daughter Jemima Kathleen Boone. Parts 2 and 3 are in narrative form. For those not familiar with the TV show, it aired in the 1960's- family fare you don't see today, unfortuneately._

_Daniel Boone's wife is Rebecca and they have a son, Israel. They are moving from Virginia to Ken Tuckee, which is the crossroad of many of the region's native residents. Daniel meets a Native American, Mingo, and they become fast friends- as close as brothers, in many ways.There is, however, an attitude of prejudice against the Indians in Boonesborough, the fort Boone founds. Its residents, trappers, settlers, etc., are usually quick to condemn, while Boone tries to see a man for who he is inside, not how he appears outside. __The story begins in 1775. Boone has returned from Ken Tuckee with a visitor._

_Feedback is welcome and requested. Please click the little button!_

Rated K+

* * *

My Dearest Friend

Dear Eliza, March 1775

I was very happy to get your letter. There are more trappers coming through here now so it should not be as hard to write each other like before. I miss having you nearby to talk to.

We are moving to Ken Tuckee but I will still try to write after we move. Pa said there is plenty of good land over the mountains for settlers. There is a trail over the mountains that the Indians made and they might not want us using it so there might be fighting. He and a group of men will go first and build a fort where we will live. I am kind of scared but Ma says we will follow Pa and he will keep us safe. There are more settlers now in Virginia and a lot less Indian attacks so I hope there will be lots of settlers coming to Ken Tuckee and also lots of boys.

Pa and his friend Yadkin went to Ken Tuckee to see what it was like. When he came home last week he brought an Indian with him! I was very scared when the Indian walked in our cabin.

I will describe him to you. He is as big as Pa but looks taller I think because of the two feathers in his hair. His hair is long and shiny black. He wears lots of beads and a buckskin vest and blue pants and he has a rifle like Pa's Ticklicker and a knife. He has a long leather strip that is braided called a bullwhip. I don't know what the whip is for but Yadkin said it could cut a man clean open!

He looked scary at first but then he started talking and he is not so scary. He does not sound like any Indian I ever heard. Ma said he must have a lot of learning but no one dared to ask. She told Israel it would be prying and said she would whup his bottom if he did.

The Indian asked me my name and when I told him he said Jemima Kathleen was the loveliest name he had ever heard. I think he was joshing me. He quoted a poem about a fair maiden. It was pretty words.

Please write to me and tell me about your birthday supper. Did Enoch come? Since I will be 15 at the end of this month Ma said I could have callers then. I just hope there will be boys nearby in Ken Tuckee to come calling.

Your friend,

Jemima Kathleen Boone

* * *

Dear Eliza, November 1775

I hope this letter finds its way to you. A trapper heading east said he would take it to Roanoke when he leaves tomorrow. We are in Ken Tuckee living in a fort made of log walls. They call it Boonesborough because Pa is the leader. He wants to build us a cabin but says it is too dangerous yet. There are 15 families here and others who come and go, mostly trappers and traders. We have been attacked 3 times.

Are there many Redcoats in Williamsburg? We've heard tell that there are Redcoats crossing the mountains. Do be careful.

Do you remember I told you Pa had an Indian friend? He is a Cherokee Indian. His name is Mingo and he is still Pa's friend and he has not attacked the fort but some settlers think he will and do not like him being here. Pa said he is his friend no matter if he is an Indian.

Mingo said he wants to help the Indians and settlers get along, but he knew more settlers would keep coming here and there would be less land for the Indians. He said Indians did not believe in one person owning land. Is that not strange? He said settlers wanted to own the land and there would be fighting and many settlers and Indians would die. He looked sad and so did Ma.

Israel got a whupping for asking Mingo how he came to talk so good. Mingo did not get mad but Ma did. Israel can be such the fool sometimes. He asked Mingo if he was a soldier because he talked like the Redcoat officer in Virginia. Mingo kneeled down in front of Israel and said he "was not an officer of His Majesty's army" but he went to England with his father when he was about Israel's age and attended school there.

My brother just does not know when to keep quiet and asked where Mingo's ma was when he left for England. I think if Ma could have gotten ahold of Israel right then I would be an only child now. Mingo said he did not mind Israel asking questions and said his ma died before he left.

Pa said a man's past was no man's business and apologized. Mingo seemed embarrassed and said because his pa is English and his ma was Indian it puts him in an awkward position most of the time and he usually lets people think what they wanted to about him. He said he wanted us to know because he considered us his friends. Pa told us later that Mingo had paid us a high compliment.

We found out what the whip is for. He can swing it around and jerk it fast and make it snap against things real hard. One day he was showing Israel how to use it and let him try it. You know how hardheaded Israel is and he swung it around wild. It almost hit my face but Mingo stuck his arm up and caught it. It cut his arm bad but he did not get angry though I know it must have hurt something awful. When Israel saw the blood running down Mingo's arm he started crying. Mingo said experience is a good teacher. Ma said there was another good way to teach a lesson and Israel got a whupping.

Indian trouble has kept us in the fort but there hasn't been trouble for a while so we are able to leave the fort and hunt. Ma and me and Israel have been gathering nuts and wild apples for the coming winter. Israel says he feels like a squirrel.

There are not many boys around here so none have come calling. One boy helped me carry a bucket of water from the water barrel to our room but he and his pa left a week ago and we haven't seen them since. I wonder what happened to them.

I must close now as this letter is getting too long.

Your friend,

Jemima Kathleen Boone

* * *

Dear Eliza, June 1776

Your 16th birthday party must have been wonderful. And a betrothal too! Do you think your parents will give permission when Enoch asks them? I am sure they will.

I always think of you on my birthday since our birthdays are only 6 days apart in March and we are the same age. My 16th birthday was not as exciting as yours and I am not engaged to be married. Ma made me a new apron and Pa gave me several folds of pretty blue cloth. Ma said she would help me make a new dress from it. Mingo gave me a muff made from rabbit fur.

Last week, he gave me a book of poetry! He said it was a belated birthday present. I don't know where he got it. Ma said he must have gone to a lot of trouble to get it for me. He read one of the poems and it was beautiful. He made it sound happy and sad all at the same time.

No, Mingo is not married. I know because Israel asked- another whipping- and Mingo said he was not but did not say anything more about it. He enjoys reading and discussing literature and can make an author's words so clear it all makes sense. He has been reading one of Shakespeare's plays to me and Israel and he makes it sound so real you forget he is only reading it. He and Pa trap during the winter and hunt together. He sometimes gets involved with the disputes and problems the settlers and Indians have, but not all the settlers and Indians like him and some try to hurt him.

We found out more about Mingo. You might not believe this, but his father is Lord Dunsmore, the governor of Virginia! Everyone was surprised and Mingo seemed very uncomfortable when his father showed up in Boonesborough. Pa said Lord Dunsmore was going to cheat the Indians and Mingo tried to convince his father not to but he would not listen. Mingo found a treaty that stopped Lord Dunsmore from taking the Indian's land and that made his father as mad as a wet hen.

I heard Pa telling Ma about some of the things Lord Dunsmore said to Mingo and in front of nearly the whole town. It was hurtful things. I'm very glad I have a ma and pa that love me. It must be awful to have your own pa dislike you. Pa said having your own kin turn against you was one of the worst things to bear. I wish I could let him know we care about him. He has helped us a lot and looks after us when Pa is gone. He is a good friend.

I almost forgot to tell you that we are in our own cabin now. It is about a mile from Boonesborough depending on which trail you take. One trail goes straight through the woods but the other follows a ridge near a big creek. I call it the Moon Trail because you can see the moon and open sky from it. Jericho likes to take that trail when he walks me home. It takes longer.

I have not told you about Jericho because he moved here after my last letter. Since I am 16 now Ma lets me keep company with him. He is nice and is good looking. He comes calling often and I think he likes me. I like him too.

Pa says there could be trouble with the British over what happened in Boston recently. Please be careful, my friend.

Give your mother and grandmother my best.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, January 1777

I am so happy for you! I wish I could be there when you and Enoch get married. How can you bear to wait 3 months till you are 17? I think I would be too excited. Write and tell me all about the wedding your mother is planning. I'm sure it will be grand. Please enclose a scrap of material from your wedding dress with your next letter so I can at least imagine it. I truly am happy for you.

I will try to answer the questions you asked in your last letter. No, Jericho has not said anything about getting married, but he has hinted that he wants to settle down. I'm glad because I do not know what I would say. He is nice, I must admit.

No, there are not Indian attacks every day, so it is not always a frightening place to live. I am more afraid of coming across a bear than an Indian, although both can be fierce. Some times are more unsettled than others. The Redcoats have been in the area causing more problems between the settlers and Indians. We heard the Continental Congress declared the colonies to be independent, but nothing has changed here. Pa said it might come to fighting. I hope not.

Yes, there are a few more young men in Boonesborough now that more people are coming to settle. I have never thought about if Mingo is handsome because he is just a friend. I would say he is pleasant looking though. No, he does not live with us but he and Pa hunt and trap together so he is at our cabin often. His tribe lives half a day's walk from here but they move around during the year. Unless he is with Pa, or us, I think he spends much of his time alone.

I told you many of the settlers do not trust him. A few weeks ago, someone wet the stores of gunpowder just before Indians attacked Boonesborough. Many people blamed Mingo because he left just before the Indians arrived. It was hard to fight with so little powder, and 3 men were killed and part of the town burned. When Mingo came back 2 days later, a group of men beat him then tried to hang him. Pa stopped them and we later found out it was a trapper who was working for a group of Frenchmen who did not want more and more settlers and trappers in the area. I'm glad Pa was there.

Please tell me all about your wedding. Don't leave out any details!

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, October 1777

The material was beautiful and I know you looked lovely. Thank you for describing everything so vividly. Even though I could not be there, you know my heart was with you.

It has been rather quiet here, for the most part. Pa and Mingo are involved in some of the goings on in the area, but I cannot say much about it. They do not talk about it around Israel and me, although if I ask Mingo, he will explain what he knows of current events. I think Pa tries to protect me from worrying. I still worry- not knowing is sometimes worse than half-knowing.

Ma tries not to appear anxious when Pa has to leave and there are Redcoats looking for him, but I know she frets until he comes home safe. I know something of how she feels for I am troubled and cannot sleep well until he and Mingo are home.

Jericho walked me to our cabin two nights ago and we, of course, took the longer Moon Trail. He said he wanted to look at the stars, so we stopped for a while. I think it was just an excuse because the sky was overcast. In fact, it looked like it was going to rain. Well, let me tell you what happened. I got my first kiss!…eventually.

We sat on a log and looked at the clouds for a while and Jericho scooted closer to me. A few minutes later, he scooted over some more and put his arm around me. I guess I should have told him not to, but it was nice, so I didn't. We sat there for a while longer then he asked if I minded if he kissed me. I said I did not mind. All that scooting around on the log must have disturbed a little bobcat trying to sleep inside it, and she did mind! She came out hissing and spitting and I screamed and Jericho started hollering and I guess they could hear us clear over in Virginia!

Probably as scared as us, the bobcat ran off- it was not much bigger than a dog- and we sat back down. Jericho banged on the log first to make sure nothing else was in it. Jericho went to put his arm around me, but it startled me and I screamed again.

Just about the time we were settled back on the log, with Jericho's arm around me (he warned me first), and ready to give kissing another try, we heard something that sounded like a big grizzly coming through the woods at a run. We jumped up but somehow my legs got tangled with Jericho's (our arms were already tangled) and we fell to the ground in a heap. That was the moment we found out it was not a bear we'd disturbed, but it was Mingo!

I suppose with my yelling, and Jericho and I rolling on the ground, it was not difficult for Mingo to think Jericho was trying to take liberties. Mingo had Jericho dangling in the air by the scruff of his jacket before I could explain.

After I finally convinced him nothing improper occurred, Mingo dropped Jericho rather abruptly and said he would accompany us back to the cabin "just in case we ran up on another ferocious creature such as a squirrel or raccoon." Mingo walked behind us the whole way.

Jericho stewed over this, but once we arrived at the cabin without any further incident and Mingo left us alone outside the door (he said to be careful of the chipmunk family under the porch), Jericho's mood improved. We decided to give kissing one last try, and I finally got my first kiss from a boy!

It was nice, but in the middle of it, I remembered what Mingo said about the chipmunks and started giggling. Jericho thought I was laughing at him and stomped away mad. He tripped on the butter churn, which made such a clatter both Mingo and Pa came out. Pa just stared at Jericho who was sprawled out on the porch. Pa has a way of staring at people that makes them speechless.

Mingo folded his arms and calmly asked if the chipmunks were giving us trouble and I laughed so hard at that I could not say goodnight to Jericho.

Not a very romantic first kiss, was it? Maybe next time there won't be any bobcats or fierce chipmunks around!

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, May 1778

What is it like being married? Do you remember the times we sat on your porch discussing our dreams about what it would be like to be a wife? Were our dreams silly? I cannot help but wonder what it will be like having my own family, or if I ever will. I wonder how I will know if a man is the right one for me. Is it hard to tell? Did you know as soon as you met Enoch or was it later?

How do you know when you love someone? Do you know in your head as well as your heart? Jericho is very nice and makes a good living trapping with his father, but when I think about being with him day after day, I wonder what it would really be like. Do you and Enoch agree on everything? Are there times you do not have anything to talk about? I'm afraid we would have nothing to discuss or share after a while.

I ask you this because I have a problem and I am hesitant to talk with Ma about it. After my 18th birthday dinner last week, Jericho took me for a walk and asked me to marry him. His asking was not a surprise, but even so I could not give him an answer. I told him I needed some time to consider.

I know I will have to decide before you can get this and write back, but it helps to know that someone else understands what is in your heart. I wish we could talk as we used to. I will probably discuss it with Ma after I have gotten my thoughts together. Ma was married and a mother to me by my age.

Being 18 now, I feel like I should be doing something. It is tempting to accept Jericho's proposal, but I have to be sure. Several families have asked me to teach their children and I would like to very much. Many of the parents do not know how to read or write, but they want their children to know. Ma taught us so we were fortunate. Mingo has helped with Israel in the past two years. He is very patient and keeps Israel's attention, which is not easy.

Jericho said women do not need much learning and thinks I should not teach, but he could not give me a good reason why not. I asked Mingo and he said sharing the gift of knowledge blesses not only the receiver but also the giver.

We had not seen Mingo for several weeks, so I was pleased when he came for my birthday dinner. He told Pa there is trouble within his tribe and opposition to the chief who is a relative of his. I hope he will not be in danger. I am worried that someone will hurt him.

Mingo gave me two books and a package of paper for my birthday! He is such a dear friend. We sat by the fire last night on the big rug made from a bear Pa killed last winter, and read selections to each other and discussed them. I could listen to him read all night and almost did! It was nearly daybreak before we realized it, and he and Pa had a two-day walk ahead of them. I felt bad because he had no sleep when they left this morning. He said he didn't mind missing sleep to talk with me but did not want me to feel tired for my chores today. Is that not funny- we were worried about each other. I hope they come home soon.

It has been difficult getting a letter off, so I apologize for not writing before now. We had to return to the fort again this spring and the Indian raids kept the men from planting crops. Pa says it may be a hard winter so we are planting a second garden.

Israel and Ma are going to town and will take this letter, so I must close.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, February 1779

Has there been trouble there? Please be careful. We have had Redcoats in the area looking for Pa and Mingo. Our friend Cincinnatus said since the people listen to Pa, the British would not want him opposing the Crown. Pa said he'd bet a winter's fur harvest that Lord Dunsmore sent troops after Mingo. Imagine a father doing that! He has not been here lately. Some of the townspeople have tried to help the Redcoats find Mingo. I do not understand why they dislike him. I miss him. I wish the King would just let the colonies be.

We heard that General George Rogers Clark has men camped on the Ohio River to protect settlers. I hope it will bring peace to the area.

Pa has been very busy trying to foil the Redcoats and the Indians that have taken up with them. Mingo says the Indians are in a difficult position. They do not trust the settlers and when the British promise them the land back, they cling to that hope. It must be hard for him, caught between his two peoples. I wish I could make things easier for him.

I did not agree to marry Jericho. He says I want too much, that my sights are too high and are not reasonable. He says I should settle for a real person and not go hunting after a dream. I tried to explain that he is very nice, but I just didn't feel we were right for each other. I am afraid he is angry. I don't think it is unreasonable to want to be absolutely sure about the man you marry, do you?

I could tell Pa was surprised and disappointed, but Ma wasn't. She said I would know when I met the man I should marry. I am nearly 19 years old and thought that by now we surely would have met.

One night Mingo went outside to get firewood and I followed him. I did not know whether I should or not, but I wanted to ask him for his advice. I trust him and I knew he would give me an honest answer. I asked if it was right to settle for caring instead of love. He was very quiet for a while then took my hands in his and said that my heart was a precious a gift and to never settle for anything less than love. I suppose he is right, but it is hard not to feel discouraged.

Keeping busy is the best thing I can do, at the moment. I have three students that I teach twice a week and several more may be joining the class soon. Teaching them is a joy and I take great pleasure in it.

It is hard to believe that you little sister Sara is keeping company already! It would be wonderful to see her and, of course, you, again. Perhaps one day we will have that chance.

It has been a hard winter, just as Pa said it would. We eat a great deal of venison, but I heard Pa and Mingo talking about how the deer and other game are getting scarce with all the settlers and trappers coming in. I hope Pa doesn't have us move.

Please stay safe.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, August 1779

A little girl! I think Abigail is a beautiful name. I wish I could see her. Sara was always talented at drawing. Please ask her to sketch Abigail for me and send it with your next letter.

I am teaching seven children now and two of the parents sometimes sit in on my class. We meet at the town hall, which is what we use for meetings, speeches, or gatherings such as weddings. Two of my students read from the Scriptures at this month's Sunday services and I was very proud of them.

We had to spend nearly a month in the fort this summer. Pa said it was Indians from up north. During the fighting, Israel sneaked away from Ma and climbed up on the fort's wall with one of Pa's guns. The gun's kick knocked him backwards and he fell onto Widow Blackburn's hen house roof making it cave in, and the widow had to chase down her chickens that she claims are the best layers in Boonesborough.

Ma was scared Israel had hurt himself and she did not fuss at him but held him in her arms, which embarrassed Israel to no end. Ma said he had to scrub down the henhouse for the widow and he said he'd rather have a whipping, so she gave him one and he still has to scrub the coop. Israel will never learn to keep his mouth closed.

The widow and her sister, Miss Essie, keep asking when I'm going to find a husband. Widow Blackburn said 19 is just too old to still be single. I've about given up. There is no one here among the young men I feel anything for.

Thomas Cade walked me home one evening and said he'd be obliged if I would marry him since he was tired of doing his own washing, cleaning, and cooking and he knew my ma and pa must be fretting terribly over my still being at home and unmarried.

Fortunately, we ran into Mingo on the trail and I excused myself from Mr. Cade's presence and asked Mingo to walk with me the rest of the way. I was not in a good mood and Mingo must have known it because he spent the whole time quoting funny lines from Much Ado About Nothing. He had me laughing by the time we got home. I think I would rather spend time with Mingo more than anyone else I know.

It is late and I must stop. Ma and I are making soap tomorrow and we must start early.

Give sweet Abigail a kiss for me.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, May 1780

Please thank Sara for the drawing of Abigail. She is a beautiful child. I am very glad to hear you are recovering from the fever. Please follow the advice of your mother and grandmother and do not exert yourself. Your daughter needs you back and in full health.

We have heard that there are more British forces in Georgia and Carolina and that the Cherokee there have joined with the British. Pa and Mingo were at the local tavern in Boonesborough when everyone got the news and Pa told Ma that every man in the place turned to look at Mingo, who was reading a Philadelphia newspaper a trader brought last week. Mingo ignored them, but a dozen men stood up and demanded outright that Mingo leave Boonesborough, so he did.

Pa left with him and the two of them came to our cabin. Ma saw red when she heard what happened, but Mingo explained that it would do no one any good if he stayed and trouble erupted, so it was best if he went away.

He asked to borrow the book of Shakespeare's comedies he gave me two years ago, and promised he would return it unharmed. I told Mingo I was more concerned about him and he laughed and said in that case, he would do his best to return himself and Mr. Shakespeare in good condition.

He's not been back for 7 weeks and I don't know where he is. Pa said he might have gone to Virginia. Mingo did not tell anyone for fear of putting them in danger. I cannot help but worry for my dear friend. I cannot believe I am 20 years old and have known Mingo for 5 years. It seems like I've known him forever.

This is certainly a mournful letter and I apologize. The world is turned upside down and cannot seem to right itself. I know Williamsburg must be even more unsettled. Please take care of yourself and the baby.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, November 1780

I hope this letter can make it into Williamsburg. We have heard that there are many British troops there. Please be very careful and do not go out more than necessary.

Over the summer, many of the Redcoats in the area left, so it is much calmer now. Mingo returned in August. I was sorely glad to see him! He returned unharmed, but unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Mr. Shakespeare - a musket ball was imbedded in the book! Mingo was very apologetic, but I do not care a whit for it stopped the ball from hitting him and that is all that matters.

Next week, he and Pa will leave to set traps. Israel is going with them and has been about to burst with pride. They will be gone for almost a month.

Pa brought home a newcomer to the area, Silas Cummings, for dinner recently. Mr. Cumming is a widower who lost his wife and his four-year-old son in an Indian raid in Virginia last year. To make a short story even shorter, after calling on me and walking me home several times, he asked me to marry him. I feel sad for him, but do not love him.

Pa said I could do a lot worse than marrying Mr. Cummings and that fondness grows. I suppose that is so. Still, I could not give my assent and Pa did not say anything more about it. I hope he was not disappointed again, but I fear he is.

Ma and I will be making soap while Pa and Mingo are gone, and we are cutting squares for a quilt to work on over the winter and will use the scraps to finish a rag rug we began last spring. This should make the time pass since the nights are getting quite long now.

My thoughts are with you and I pray for your safety.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, December 1781

I was very happy to hear that Abigail has a little brother. I'm sure Enoch is proud to have a son. Does he favor his father? I am certain he is a beautiful baby.

I have news, too! Ma and Pa said now that the hostilities are over I can come visit! Your mother is very kind to have asked me and I truly do not know how to thank her. It will be wonderful to see you again and to meet Enoch and, of course, Abigail. I'm sure I will not recognize Sara as she has grown so much since we were last together.

The parties and bees sound exciting but I am afraid I will seem rather backwards to your friends. Pa says there's no use worrying about what others think of you. Ma says manners, a smile, and plenty of good sense are all a young woman needs and that I have all three.

Mingo said, "Kathleen, you have grace and beauty to carry you into any royal court in Europe"! He always says such nice things. Still, it is pleasant to hear. Mingo has called me Kathleen since I was a young girl. I don't know why, but I suppose it is just something special between us, and I must admit that I like it. I will miss him while in Williamsburg but I hope the money I earned teaching will be enough to buy a book for him.

Miss Essie said I should find a beau while I am there and get married since I am going on 22 and am almost beyond marrying age. The Widow Blackburn said I most likely had another good year left although at my age, I'd best not be picky about a man and should take what comes. I do hope I have more than another good year left!

I have been thinking about what Mingo said- that love was a precious gift. I know I will not settle for anything but love, but do I wish it would hurry up and find me. Maybe it is waiting for me in Williamsburg!

Mingo offered to take this to the tavern and find someone headed east to carry it, so I must not write longer. Ma and I have two dresses to finish so there is plenty to do. Pa will bring me as soon as the mountain passes are open in the spring. I am so excited I can hardly sleep at night!

I will see you before long!

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Mingo, May 1782

Williamsburg is so different from Boonesborough I scarcely know where to start. There always seems to be a party or get-together of some sort going on. I was hesitant at first and concerned I would be out of place and would embarrass my friend, but everyone has been very kind and I have made several new friends in the two months I've been here. The time has flown by and I am afraid the rest of the year will be gone before I know it.

Several young men have come to call, but I think it is because I am new to town and I am a diversion from their ordinary rounds. Last month, Eliza's mother hosted a dinner in honor of my 22nd birthday.

One of the young men in attendance was telling of his visit to the 'wilds of western Virginia' and how trying it had been to sleep on a cot, covered with a scratchy wool blanket, and wait for his servant to cook food over an open fire. I thought of how you and Pa slept on the bare ground or in the snow, and I had to cover my face behind a napkin to hide my laughter.

It occurred to me that I have never heard you or Pa complain about going out in the winter to check traps. You seem to enjoy it. The frontier must be very different from England. Was it hard to leave? Do you ever miss living in London and attending parties and music recitals and all the other diversions? Forgive me if I am too forward in asking. I do not mean to pry.

Now that I have myself in bad graces with you, I may as well make it complete. I do not know if you want to hear of your father, but Eliza's grandmother's first cousin met us as we were on our way to the silversmith's shop today, and told us about Lord Dunsmore leaving Williamsburg last year. It seems her cousin was an aide to your father, but decided to stay in the colonies (as he still calls us) after the surrender.

Without mentioning you, I inquired as to the governor's condition when last seen and he said your father looked tired but seemed to be in good health. I have debated whether to tell you, but I would want to know about my Pa even if we were not close. Please forgive me if I have judged in error.

I shall tell you of Eliza's son Caleb to brighten this letter. He is a precious baby and is crawling about and trying to talk a bit. He fell asleep in my lap last night and I did not want to lay him in his bed, it was so wonderful just holding him. Abigail is a sweet child who loves being read to and I am happy to oblige her, although it is not the same as you and I discussing Shakespeare! I am enjoying being around her little ones very much.

With affection,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Miss Boone, August 1782

It was an unexpected pleasure to find you letter waiting for me when I returned to your parent's home. I am honored by your taking time from your busy social obligations to write me.

I am happy to hear your visit is going well and you are enjoying the cultural delights of Williamsburg. I beg to differ with you concerning the motives of the young men who come to call. The pleasure of your company is not simply a diversion, but is an event in itself.

I could never be angry with you, Kathleen. Never. Thank you for your kindness in telling me of my father's well being. Even though we do not agree on many things, he is still my father and I am grateful for the advantages he provided for me. I wish him no ill and am pleased to hear of his good health and safe passage from the city.

Kathleen, please know that you may ask me any question and I will answer it honestly.

No, it was not difficult to leave England. It was my choice and what I felt was best. As for whether or not I miss the social and cultural attractions of England, I can only say that while the gaiety of town life has its pleasures, it cannot compare to what I have found here.

There is a beauty in mist-covered mountains and valleys and first buds of spring that no artist can come close to capturing. No orchestra can compare with the songs of birds awakening at dawn or the melody of a stream coursing its way over stones. No circle of polite society can equate to the friendship I have found within your family. And, nothing served on a silver platter by liveried footmen can compare with a freshly caught trout prepared over an open camp fire- even if one must wait a while for it to cook.

I must admit, however, that I do miss having ready access to books. Until recent years, I had no one to share them with. Boonesborough most definitely needs a bookseller, particularly since it now has an excellent teacher to instill a love for the bound word in its inhabitants.

To answer your question in a different, more succinct manner, I would say that in my experience, happiness is determined by what is within one's self rather than what is without.

I remain your devoted friend,

Mingo

* * *

Dear Mingo, December 1782

The time has flown by and I cannot believe that it will soon be spring again. I received a letter from Mother and, no doubt, you already know that she and Pa are permitting me to stay until June. I am excited to have more time, but I find myself looking forward to seeing the familiar hills and streams of home. It will be a joy to see everyone again- even Israel.

I have enjoyed the past eight months immensely, and my visit has been exciting and enlightening, although there have been times when I had to stop myself from speaking my mind. I fear the sympathies of Eliza's grandmother, and perhaps her parents as well, were with England.

I am glad you were not angry with me. That would have been hard to bear if you were.

Please do not think me silly, but I must admit I have enjoyed the parties and such while here. There was a ball two weeks ago and I danced until the sky became light with dawn. It brought to mind the night we sat up all night reading by the fire. Do you remember?

No one at the ball wanted to discuss poetry or literature, but only what would be in fashion for the season or who the newest couples were. The young women and men here concern themselves with the most frivolous things.

Eliza's husband has a collection of books he inherited from his father, and I have read most of them during my stay. Her grandmother thought it strange that I would enjoy reading.

I must close, as guests will be arriving for the party Eliza's grandmother is giving to celebrate the New Year. She always invites several young men and Eliza confided that her mother and grandmother are determined to make a match for me. The young men are all handsome and quite nicely dressed but in conversation, they are shallow.

Take care, my friend.

With affection,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Miss Boone, March 1783

Please accept my good wishes on your 23rd birthday. I was recently thinking of when I first met your family. You were a girl of about 15, were you not?

I ask you to forgive the poor penmanship of this letter, as the table on which I am writing at the tavern appears to have been used rather vigorously in a recent fight. I believe its user lost.

While it is often difficult to understand another's outlook when it differs from our own, I would caution you against the mistake of being blind to the good in others because of this difference in opinion. There are few things in life not tinged with gray around the edges- little is as simple as white or black, good or bad.

There were two sides to the recent contentions between the Colonies and the Crown and I find myself in the position of having seen both sides. Even though I have my own thoughts on the matter, I can understand those who see opposite. The Crown invested a great deal of resources in establishing the colonies, but did not fully understand what occurred over the past decades, or the changes the colonists underwent into settling the land and making it their home.

Despite the fact that my parents were not of the colonies, I found myself sympathetic to those who wished to have control of what they have worked very hard to achieve. As you know, I assisted your father and others in this pursuit. However, because of my mother's people, I also find myself aware of how the colonist's gains were come by, and at whose expense. So, you see, there is often no clear right or wrong, but both with edges of gray.

I have found that very little discussion of scholarly subjects takes place at balls, Kathleen, and with such charming young ladies as you in attendance, the young men of Williamsburg must be forgiven if their attention is not on books.

I look forward to seeing you again and wish you a safe journey home.

Your obedient servant,

Mingo

* * *

Dearest Eliza, September1783

Pa and I made it to Boonesborough safely and I do not know how to express my gratitude for having me in your home during the past year. Please give your mother and grandmother the enclosed letters of thanks. It was a wonderful year and I will fondly remember our days together always.

Israel has grown taller than Mother and I! He confessed that he was to have gotten a whipping last month, but when Mother made him bend over her lap, she began to laugh and let him go.

Israel said I have changed and that I look all grown up. I am thankful for the dresses your mother ordered for me after my others became too tight. I suppose Mother and I should have allowed more in the seams for letting out than we did.

Mingo came to our cabin last night and I was very happy to see him after being away for over a year. It took a while before he said anything. I thought perhaps Mingo had forgotten what I looked like and did not recognize me, but he remembered. I suppose it was the new dress. He was quiet all evening.

He was delighted with the book I brought him and truly surprised. I think it was just as much his receiving a gift as it was the book itself. I will ask Mother if we might have a dinner for his birthday. I recall him saying he had been in the colonies for 12 years, and that was two years ago, so I believe he is about 35 or 36 years old- a few years younger than Mother.

Mingo seems older, though. Perhaps it is because he is quiet by nature, not liking to draw attention to himself. There seems to be sadness about him that I never noticed it until now, since I am older. Thinking back, it has always been there. Leaving two homes and losing both parents must surely be difficult. I do not think his life in England or in the colonies has been easy. He is often alone.

Miss Essie got married while I was visiting with you! A trader happened by her and Widow Blackburn's house, and smelled her cooking apple strudel. He walked right up to her door and asked if he might have a taste of it. She allowed him, and he came back the next time she baked another pan. Mother said Miss Essie used up nearly every apple in Boonesborough before he proposed.

He is opening a store in the settlement and will be staying here from now on. Miss Essie, or I should say Mrs. Knott, said I wasn't to worry yet, even if I am twenty three- if she could find a man, then so could I. I hope I do not have to wait until I am an ancient forty-eight years old like she!

Give my best to all,

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

Dear Eliza, November 1783

I am writing to keep my mind from fretting, so I hope this letter makes sense. Two days ago, a party of Creek Indians captured Mingo and they shot him, beat him, and then left him for dead. He has not spoken since Pa found him and brought him home to us yesterday. His eyes have not opened, either.

I am so worried about him. I do not know what I would do without him. Mingo is my dearest friend. As I watch him laboring to breathe, I cannot help but remember the times we spent together walking the trails between here and Boonesboro, talking about everything under the sun. I would give anything to be discussing Yeats or Donne with him rather than pressing cool cloths to his face and chest, trying to bring down his fever.

I must rest my eyes for a while, but later I will write more.

I awoke this morning at Mingo's side. I must have fallen asleep, and Mother did not wake me when she got up from her rest. His skin is so hot I fear the worse. Mother is worried about his breathing and that an infection might be settling in his lungs. I have said a prayer for him.

Mingo is always so strong and brave; I thought nothing could stop him. When he is around, I feel safe. He makes me laugh and feel special and there is no one I would rather be with than my friend Mingo. I could not bear to lose him.

Mother needs me to help make broth for when he wakes up, so I will close for now.

I have not written for four days and am pleased to say that Mingo is awake and he is better. He is very weak and still coughing, but his fever is down. Mother says that is a good sign. He took the broth and insisted on getting up for a while to go out in the fresh air. Mother says that his stubbornness is an even better sign. He was so weak he had to lean on Pa to walk. I sat with him on the porch and talked about everything that came to mind. After a while, we just listened to the sounds of the birds and the wind in the pine trees. I am so thankful he is recovering.

I will close on that positive thought and send this letter with Pa when he goes to town.

Love,

Jemima Kathleen

* * *

My Dear Eliza, February 1784

I was pleased to hear the Abigail and Caleb are going to have a new brother or sister this summer! I am very happy for you and Enoch. I know your mother is excited to have another grandchild. Please give little Caleb a kiss and Abigail a "bear hug" from me. You are so fortunate.

My students just left and I wanted to get a letter off to you as Jericho said he would take this letter east for me. He married a girl who moved here three months ago with her parents. Her grandfather hired Jericho to work for him, so they are moving to Roanoke. I hope they will be happy.

I am busy with teaching school to over a dozen children now and several adults who sit in on our classes when they can. Getting books is very difficult, but between the Scriptures and the books Mingo and I have, there is enough for them to practice on. I have school two or three times a week, depending on the season and crops. It keeps me busy, but not busy enough.

As Mother says, a new year has begun and along with it a new start. I am 24 years old, so must give some thought to my future. To continue living with Pa and Mother as an old maid is not something I desire, although I know they would never turn me out. I have thought about searching for a position helping take care of children as I have experience teaching, but there is little opportunity for that and I would find myself a servant in someone's home.

I am at a loss over what to do. I wish I could attend school- a real one such as college, but I know that is not available to women. I confess it seems unfair to me.

It is a hard decision to make, so I will have to give it more thought. Maybe I will simply stay here. Pa is often away and I know it must be lonely for Mother.

Often, I feel as if there is something so close to me, that if I simply reached out I could touch it and my life would change and all the hollows that lie empty in my heart would fill to overflowing.

Perhaps it is just wishful thinking. I cannot imagine what opportunities there might be for me here in Ken Tuckee. It is still a wild and, for the most part, unsettled land.

Mingo is much better. He is stronger and is well enough to have gone with Pa to set traps this winter. While he was recovering, we spent a great deal of time talking and reading to each other, and that seemed to help him bear being cooped up.

I cannot help but feel that there is something different between Mingo and me. I do not know how to describe it, but Mingo seems distant and hesitant. I have thought and thought, but cannot think of anything to account for it. Perhaps it is due to his being ill, but looking back the distance between us has been there since my return from Williamsburg.

He is always polite and friendly but his manner is reserved. At times, he will be talking to me then suddenly stop in mid-sentence as if he had been about to say something and thought better of it. He withdraws into himself when this happens or leaves for several days only to return as distant and polite as before.

I hope it is something that will pass for I wish our friendship to be close again.

He is in town to settle fur accounts and promised to walk me home this evening. He has not been around for the past week, so it will be pleasant to spend time with him.

Perhaps Mingo and I will take the Moon Trail for it is cold and the evening is clear- the stars will be beautiful.

I see my dearest friend coming so will close.

With deep affection,

Your friend,

Jemima Kathleen


	2. part 2

My Dearest Friend

Part2

"Are you ready, Kathleen?" Mingo asked, using Jemima's middle name as he did in private. Its use began as simply a pet name for a young girl. Now, he thought it suited her beautifully. He paused halfway inside, filling the doorway. Hands clasped loosely behind his back, his dark hair falling across his shoulders, Mingo gazed at the woman behind the room's lone table. A warm glow from the stub of a beeswax candle highlighted the gold-red tints of her hair, the soft curve of her cheek. After a moment, he crossed the planked floor to where she sat folding a letter. "I am in no hurry. Please, take your time."

She stood. "No, I'm finished."

Mingo lifted a dark eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Ah! I thought writing to all the young swains in Williamsburg would take longer."

He smiled and there was a hint of teasing in his deep voice. Sweeping the long skirt of her plain cotton dress as if it were an elegant silk gown, Jemima Kathleen came around the desk to stand before him. She had to look up, for she came barely to his chest.

"And what, kind sir, makes you think the young men of Williamsburg are eagerly awaiting a letter from me?" she asked sweetly in return.

Mingo did not answer for a several seconds. When he did, there was seriousness to his voice she did not expect.

"Because, if I were they, it would be the hope of my heart," he replied quietly. A corner of his mouth lifted and he regarded her, head tilted to the side.

Embarrassed, Jemima Kathleen blushed, and then decided he was still teasing and laughed. While she put away her pen and bottle of ink, Mingo covered the fire with ashes so that sparks could not escape. He picked up her muff and heavy woolen wraps from the table, and when she had donned them, he offered his arm.

Several townsfolk saw them crossing the fort's common area. They smiled perfunctorily at the couple, but their expressions turned to frowns after the Indian and young woman passed. Some, under their breath, made ill comments.

Stopping by the tavern, Mingo went inside to leave the letter for Jericho, who would come for it in the morning. The task accomplished, he returned to Jemima Kathleen, who waited by the community well, talking with an older woman.

"Good evening, Mrs. Blackburn," Mingo said pleasantly. The woman did not smile, but pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders and scowled up at him disapprovingly.

"Miss Boone, I'm concerned about your walking home in the dark," the widow, snapped, abruptly turning away from Mingo. "What with all the dangers about, it is not safe for a young woman to be alone in the woods. I insist on finding you a proper escort."

"I am escorting Miss Boone home and I assure you she will come to no harm," Mingo answered evenly, ignoring the roundabout insult. He'd learned long ago to overlook such comments.

For a long moment, the older woman frowned and was silent. Mingo took far too many liberties with Daniel Boone's daughter, she thought. Miss Boone should be walking at night with other men- one of their own, not that Indian- and her father should insist she marry soon. Friend or no, Daniel Boone would be wise not to let Jemima and Mingo become close. No good would come of it, the widow was certain.

"Very well," she answered finally, casting a quick, dark glance his way. She turned her attention to Jemima Kathleen. "Good evening then, Miss Boone. Please, do be careful."

"Good evening, ma'am" Jemima replied. "I will be."

The widow marched away, and Jemima Kathleen wondered what had caused her to be rude to Mingo. She dismissed the conversation; the widow's odd way was well known.

A breeze stirred the air and Mingo looked to her, concerned.

"May I give you my jacket, Kathleen?"

Mingo spent most of his time out in the elements, yet he wore far less clothing than anyone she knew. His jacket was his only concession to the colder weather. She shook her head.

"The walk will warm me and this is my heaviest wrap with a lighter one underneath," she reassured him. She took his arm again, squeezing it in thanks for his offer. Under the leather sleeve, she could feel hard, thick muscles. She held his arm a bit tighter, comfortable in his company, happy to be with him again.

As dusk faded to darkness, they walked unhurriedly in silence. At the fork in the trail, Mingo slowed his pace and looked to her, then led her to the left, along the Moon Trail. His footsteps were quiet and sure.

Jemima could hear rustling from the darkness beyond the edges of the path, but she was not afraid. There would be small animals still moving about in preparation for sleep or waking for their nocturnal ramblings. Even if it were a larger animal, she was with Mingo and that was enough to ease her mind. He would protect her, she knew.

Over the years, she and Mingo had walked the trail many, many times. Jemima Kathleen could recall walking beside the tall Cherokee as a young girl, fascinated by the mystery that was Mingo. He was powerful and brave in the most literal meaning of the words, a forceful and skilled fighter when the circumstances called for it. Yet, he was the gentlest of men, quoting philosophers and poets in a voice that captivated her.

There was a soft click of beads and brush of suede as he leaned forward, his hair grazing her shoulder, to push a limb aside so it would not scrape against her. Mingled with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, was the sharp smell of smoke that clung to his jacket. She had lived with the aroma all her life and it reminded her of warm kitchens and crackling fires on frosty winter nights. It reminded her of home.

There was a bright moon, enough to light the familiar way easily, yet not enough to wash out the brilliance of the stars scattered across the velvet-black sky. Her hand tightened on his arm as they came to an overlook, and he stopped.

"Oh, Mingo, this is so beautiful! I don't think I will ever see anything as lovely," Jemima Kathleen marveled, leaning against his arm. She looked up and found him gazing at her intently, his dark eyes shadowed.

"Nor will I," he replied softly. He looked away quickly and after a moment silently led her down the trail.

The odd feeling came to her again that something was not right between them. What had she said or done to cause it? Would Mingo rather not be walking with her- was there someone else he wanted spend the evening with? It hurt her to think that she might simply be a chore to him.

Without speaking, Mingo stopped to help her over a log fallen across the path then continued on, still silent. Before, they would have chatted the whole way home, agreeing and disagreeing companionably. Now, the air seemed almost…strained.

Everything was changing and Jemima Kathleen did not understand how or why. She felt as if she had no control over her world and an important part of her life was slipping away. It was not just time escaping, but something much more valuable.

She dearly wanted what her parents had. She wanted to experience the love and trust that held two people together through hard times and good. She wanted to know the joy that followed bringing a new life into the world and watching her child learn and grow. She wanted a family of her own. The chance for this, however, was fading away, year by year.

Mingo was slipping away as well.

Losing Mingo was something she could not endure for he was too precious a friend…or, perhaps he was more than simply a friend.

Jemima Kathleen bit her lip as tears gathered and she wished Mingo would put his arms around her and hold her till the confusion and despair went away.

He'd held her once, when she returned from Williamsburg. She had rushed across the room, throwing her arms around him, hugging him in happiness. He embraced her for a long moment only to let go, stepping away to say she looked very well. During the evening, he said little else to her, but sat watching and listening to stories of her visit. Since then, nothing had been as before between them.

With all her heart, she dearly wanted it to be.

* * *

They entered the clearing by the cabin and Mingo stopped at its edge and let his gun fall against a large huckleberry bush. He looked at Jemima Kathleen. A tear, silver in the moonlight, spilled from between her lashes, followed by another. Mingo lifted a calloused hand and lightly brushed away the tears with his thumb.

"Kathleen," he asked gently, "what is troubling you?"

Had his words in town caused this? Had his silence? He stroked her cheek, brushing away another tear. If he was the cause of this…Mingo squeezed his eyes shut against the thought and felt a tightness growing in his heart.

"Please, Kathleen…"

Mingo rested his hands on her upper arms but dared not pull her close.

"Tell me. I want help." He could feel the tension in her slender body, a slight trembling from tears held at bay. "Please…"

She shook her head and looked away, trying not to cry. "I'm so afraid…"

"Afraid? Afraid of what, Kathleen?" His large hands spread, tenderly covering her shoulders. Did he frighten her? Did she know the strength of the feelings he fought constantly to conceal from her? Could she see through the cover he'd woven so carefully and firmly over his heart?

"I…I worry that no one will ever love me, that I'll never have a family." Her voice was just above a whisper. "I'm afraid I will lose you. I couldn't bear to lose you."

Her words tore at his heart- it was too much to endure. Without hesitating, he slid his arms around her, their bodies barely touching. Through his leather jacket, he could feel the warmth of her.

If only he could tell her…if only….

"Dearest Kathleen," he breathed. He leaned back slightly so that he could see her and found her watching him, eyes damp with tears and full of trust. Even though he knew they should remain unspoken, the forbidden words came.

"You _are_ loved, Kathleen, and you will never lose me- _never_!"

He bent down, touching his lips to hers, kissing her gently. Her lips were soft, her kiss as sweet as he had always imagined it would be.

Mingo groaned quietly with the pleasure it gave him.

"My dear one, you are loved," he whispered, feeling her hesitantly place her hand on his chest. Her arms moved around him and she pressed closer.

Unable to resist, Mingo cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her, more deeply, urgently. Her thick hair entwined in his fingers, he pulled her tight against him, her body, so very supple and delicate, melting against his.

She smelled of lavender and sunshine and soap. Mingo kissed her again, on her lips, her neck, her cheek. He laid his head against hers, his mind filled with the love he felt for Jemima Kathleen, his heart soaring.

He wanted to be with her forever, to protect her, and care for her. He wanted to comfort her in times of distress, laugh with her in times of joy.

Mingo sighed, truly happy for the first time in his life. Holding Jemima Kathleen was more wonderful than he ever dreamed. He pressed a kiss to her hair and heard her whisper his name. Closing his eyes, he dared not breathe lest he found the woman in his arms an illusion.

Jemima Kathleen Boone was in his arms.

With a sharp intake of breath, Mingo jerked back, holding her away. _Dear God! What had he done?_

"Mingo…" she murmured contentedly, her voice filled with love, her smile one of elation. She reached for him, but he kept her at arm's length. He did not smile; his face was stone.

"Mingo?" she repeated hesitantly, her smile fading.

He squeezed his eyes shut. After all this time of denying himself, how could he have lost control?

Words tumbled out of him. "Kathleen, I'm sorry…I should not have…"

"Mingo…I don't understand."

He steeled himself to look at her. "It was not right…for me to-"

"What did I do? I thought…" Jemima Kathleen interrupted, growing frantic. She clutched at his sleeves. "Mingo, tell me what I did wrong!"

"Nothing, you did nothing wrong- I was wrong! You must understand it is _not_ your fault, Kathleen. I never meant to…" Her fear and confusion clawed at him. He forced back words that would further betray his heart and cause her pain. "I must leave…_I must!_ Forgive me, Kathleen…please!"

Mingo released her shoulders and stepped away, seizing his gun. She moved to follow.

"I'm sorry, Kathleen…so very sorry," he whispered, backing away, then pushed through the brush into the woods leaving Jemima Kathleen behind, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mingo stumbled blindly through the underbrush oblivious to the thorns, unaware of and not caring where he was going. He had kissed Jemima Kathleen Boone- _Becky and Daniel's daughter_- after swearing he would never let her know of his feelings for her.

Everything had changed now; it could not be as before. He'd held her in his arms, tasted the sweetness of her kiss, and heard his name on her sigh. He could never forget.

Heaven help him, but he did not want to forget.

Over time, his fondness for Jemima Kathleen had grown, changing to one of deep friendship when she became a young woman. They shared a love of nature, of literature and learning. They had a common need to search beyond general beliefs for truth. Laughter came easily when with her and there was a joy in her company Mingo found with none other.

Upon her return from Williamsburg, the realization that she was a woman hit him like a blow, and the affection he held for her burst into an unthinkable passion. Vowing to keep it hidden away, he buried it deep in his heart, beneath his hopes and dreams and darkest fears. There it had stayed…until now.

He pressed on blindly, and when the moon was halfway through its nightly journey, he stopped, realizing he'd come to a path leading to his village and lodge. With a deep breath, he looked around, finally going to a nearby rock, and leaned against it wearily. His gun upright before him, he placed his hands on the end of the barrel and rested his forehead on them, forcing the fog from his mind.

What was Jemima Kathleen feeling? Anger? Disgust? He was the cause. She cared for him, he knew; they had been friends for years. Perhaps she felt a bit more than friendship for him in recent times, but it was not love.

Jemima Kathleen could not possibly love someone like him.

_She should not._

He wanted to see her and make sure she was unhurt. Daniel would be home in a few days; if he had to answer to her father, so be it. He would go back and do all within his power to make amends.

How he would explain his actions, Mingo did not know. There was absolutely no excuse. He was older, more mature- he should have prevented anything untoward from occurring. Instead, he'd held Jemima Kathleen as a lover would…he'd kissed her.

As dead grass rattled in the strengthening wind, he raised his head. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally. His lodge was not far; he would rest, then leave in the morning to return and try to undo the hurt he had caused.

Between heavy clouds, pre-dawn light was beginning to show in the eastern sky when Mingo reached his people's village. He bent low to enter his small lodge of wood and hides and it was not long before a fitful sleep overtook him.

* * *

"Cara Mingo, you will awaken," the insistent voice repeated. Mingo opened his eyes. Dim light spilled in through the parted skins.

"Cara Mingo, there are men here to speak with you. They arrived yesterday. Come." The skins fell across the doorway and Mingo sat up, again in darkness.

Men were here to see him. Remembering Jemima Kathleen's tears, he took a steadying breath. Could it be Daniel? he wondered, rising. No, it could not be; Daniel was not due home yet.

Pushing aside the deer hide flap, he blinked in the gray sunlight as cold, snow-scented air stung like thorns deep in his chest. Making his way to the large fire that blazed in the middle of camp, he saw two men he did not recognize crouching beside it. They rose as he approached.

"You Mingo, friend of Boone?" the taller of the two asked slowly and loudly. The man's clothing, like that of his companion, bespoke of affluence.

"I am he. You wished to speak with me?" Mingo answered warily. He moved closer to the fire's warmth, and then sat.

The strangers did not speak, but stared in shock at hearing perfect King's English from the roughly dressed native. After a moment, the two men hesitantly followed, folding themselves awkwardly into the position Mingo assumed easily on the hard earth.

"I am Jeddidiah Marks," the older, dark-haired man explained, "and this is Elias Collins. We are associates of Colonel Benjamin Frist."

"We have come to ask your help…sir," continued Collins, a portly, nearly bald man. "We were told you know the area to the north."

Mingo hesitated. Colonel Frist, he knew, had been active in organizing opposition to the Crown and fought alongside General George Rogers Clark on the Ohio River. Daniel mentioned meeting Colonel Frist shortly after Lord Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown. "What is it you wish to ask me?"

"We need your help in taking a shipment of…goods to the north," Marks explained, choosing his words carefully. He watched Mingo closely.

"Why?" Mingo asked flatly, tossing a stick onto the fire. He did not like the way the conversation was going.

"Why the shipment or why you, sir?" Marks queried in return.

"Answering both would be an excellent start." Mingo's patience was beginning to wane. Trappers passing through Boonesborough could be hired as guides. He had a pressing obligation and no time for this. He wanted to be on his way to the Boone cabin as soon as possible.

Marks hesitated, debating whether to answer. He looked at Mingo appraisingly then lowered his voice. "The shipment is to be used to purchase muskets and other means of resisting the British, should they attempt to occupy land along the Ohio River Valley. It is an important trade route, as you know, and it is imperative this purchase of arms occurs. A great many people are depending upon us."

"I see," Mingo replied grimly. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would be before the firearms were turned against his fellow Indians. "Who is supplying you with these materials?"

"The French," Collins explained excitedly. "Of course, they do not wish to be open about it, now that hostilities have ceased, but there have been arrangements made through contacts."

Mingo nodded, and then raised an eyebrow. "And the other…"

Collins leaned closer. "We have heard of incidents in which you assisted those engaged in our cause during the war. We need someone we can trust and who can deal with any…native residents we might encounter. Daniel Boone was to have accompanied us, but yesterday the Boonesborough tavern-keeper said that Boone would not be returning for several days yet."

"Colonel Frist is expecting us and we must not delay in our meeting. I do not think it will be difficult finding the rendezvous point," Marks added reassuringly.

Collins continued enthusiastically, "We will rendezvous with the colonel in seven days to deliver the shipment. You would be free to leave- with our deepest thanks, of course- after we meet with the colonel."

"You have the gold-' here Mingo looked from one man to the other for confirmation of what he suspected they carried "-with you?"

Collins shot a questioning look at his partner. After a pause, Marks nodded.

"Do either of you gentlemen have experience in the wilderness?" Mingo asked, even though he knew the answer. He wondered how they hadmade it this far.

Marks colored faintly and shook his head. "I am afraid not. You see, we were responsible for raising the funds and were tasked at the last moment with bringing the payment to Colonel Frist, otherwise we would have found different means or persons to convey it."

Mingo leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and stared into the fire. Several months ago, Daniel mentioned there was concern over British encroachment onAmerican territory and that there were plans made to guard against such a possibility. Apparently, it had come to fruition. Daniel would return home too late to keep his word to assist.

He glanced at Marks and Collins huddling closer to the fire as they waited for him to respond. The two men would not last long in the woods, and neither would their gold.

Mingo groaned inwardly.

Jemima Kathleen. To delay returning was impossible because of his concern for her, yet delivery of the gold and procurement of the guns was a pressing need affecting the safety of many settlers.

Mingo sighed. If only Daniel were here to make good on his promise...

"I will accompany you since Daniel Boone is not available," he agreed, reluctantly. Mingo rose and Marks and Collins followed stiffly. "We will leave immediately."

"Excellent, sir! We have a horse for your use and supplies for our trip," Collins explained, gingerly straightening his back. "However, were unable to procure tents or cots, so I fear we shall have to sleep-"

"We will not need tents or cots, Mr. Collins," Mingo replied with as much forbearance as he could muster. He glanced at the overcast sky and grimaced. It would be snowing soon. The thought of traveling over two hundred miles on noisy horses with two inexperienced gentlemen did not make him optimistic about this trip. "I will get my things and we can leave."

"Yes, yes, very good. We shall wait," Marks called to Mingo's retreating back, before turning to shake Collin's hand. Once they'd congratulated each other on being another step closer to completing their task, they quickly moved back to the fire's heat.

A half hour later, sitting atop a large brown mare, which snorted irritably and would not stand still, Mingo surveyed the small troop he was to lead. In addition to the two men on horseback, there were two mules packed so high he feared the loads would topple over. Among the bags and boxes were small items of furniture. He rolled his eyes and prayed for patience. Perhaps if they stuck to the larger, more easily traveled paths, they could make good time and still avoid trouble.

"Gentlemen, let us leave," he said curtly, turning his horse to the trail leading north.

"Quite so, let us be off," Collins said brightly. "I daresay we can get in at least a good two hours travel before we stop for luncheon!"

Mingo's jaw tightened and he kicked his horse to move faster. The sooner he got his charges to the colonel, the sooner he could return to Jemima Kathleen.

"I say, uh...um, Mr. Mingo…must we carry on at such a pace?" Collins called out, bouncing along behind. "We do have all week, sir."

Mingo bit his lip and did not reply as small, white flakes began to fall.

* * *

Fueled by a hot rage that burned deep in his gut and heart, Daniel Boone trudged doggedly in the cold shadows of the mountain's dark firs, grateful for the clear tracks left by the five animals in the ankle-deep snow. From the signs of frequent stops the group made, he figured he was covering more ground on foot than Mingo and the men on horseback. They had, however, a three-day head start on him.

He thought of his family back at the cabin. He returned four days ago, earlier than expected, and by suppertime knew something was wrong. Although not one to try his hand at ciphering people's minds, female ones in particular, he couldn't help but notice that something, or someone, had upset Jemima - Becky too, but just a mite less.

Maybe it was the fact that Jemima barely spoke to anyone. Or, maybe it was her gazing off into the distance, lost to the goings on around her. Then again, maybe it was her reddened and puffy eyes, runny nose, and sniffles. He was 'pert near sure the blooms of wildflowers didn't cause it, not in the dead of winter. Nope, Jemima had been crying.

After supper, Becky told him what she knew of it. They thought for certain Mingo would return, but when almost two days had passed and Mingo hadn't, Boone decided to go after him. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

In all of Ken Tuckee, there was not another man he had felt more close to. He had shed his own blood for Mingo, several times, and had entrusted his family to Mingo's care on even more occassions.

He had been a fool- but never again. Boone's jaw tightened.

During the years he'd known Mingo, _not_ _once_ did he give thought to the close friendship between Jemima and Mingo, despite what many townsfolk repeatedly warned.

Apparently, he should have.

Boone remembered his daughter's muffled sobs and tear-stained cheeks. He gripped Ticklicker tighter in his fist, and quickened his steps to a run.

* * *

"No, I must return. I have…responsibilities to attend to in Boonesborough," Mingo replied to the burly man across from him. Several of the militia entered the cabin, suddenly quiet at the sight of him. Not surprisingly, Mingo had received less than a warm welcome from Frist's frontiersmen when he and his companions arrived.

"We thank you for your help, sir," Frist said, reaching across the rough table to offer his hand, which Mingo shook. He looked Mingo squarely in the eyes and the vicious scar across the left side of Frist's face twisted as he grinned. "I seriously doubt that gold would have made it here without your help. Jenkins, over there, will get supplies to see you home and show you a place to bed down. I am in your debt, sir."

Mingo took his leave of the colonel and followed the man who was apparently Jenkins, out the door. The man was short and bow-legged with a distinct limp and wore a dirty, oversized blue velvet coat, the tails of which dragged the ground.

"We wuz wor't 'bout tha' gold a-gettin' har," Jenkins declared around an enormous plug of tobacco. He spit a thick stream of brown juice, which Mingo barely managed to sidestep, and waved his hand toward a small cabin hiding behind the larger ones. "Ye kin curl up in tha' 'un. A few fellers'll be jinin' ye in a spell, but fer now they'd be in th' meetin' wid Fris'."

"Thank you," Mingo answered dryly as he stopped and looked at the ramshackle structure squatting in the shadows.

"A'fore long I be bringin' ye a bag o' meal an' sech fer yer trip back 'ome," Jenkins continued amiably. He gave Mingo a toothless grin then spit another stream. Singing an unintelligible ditty, Jenkins limped away, leaving Mingo alone.

Mingo entered the cabin, relieved to have fulfilled his obligation and rid himself of his charges. They arrived earlier in the day, exactly a week after starting out, the trip plagued by delays of one sort or another. Marks and Collins insisted on boiling water for coffee each morning and stopping for a midday meal, sometimes with another pot. Boiling water over a campfire in freezing weather took a great deal of time- too much time.

Five days into the trip, one of the mules went lame on a stretch of slippery rocks. It took him an hour to convince them the poor creature could go no further and would have to be put out of its misery. Once persuaded, the two men proceeded to unload the distraught, braying beast and spent a good portion of the afternoon's scarce light trying to combine the two oversized loads on the one healthy mule.

Patience at an end, Mingo, showing great restraint as he saw it, climbed down from the boulder where he'd sat watching the two men and shot _only_ the stricken mule. He loaded the sacks of meal, meat, gold, and extra powder onto the remaining mule then flung everything else as far as he could into the woods, including the folding table, matching chairs, and coffeepot.

Without a word, he mounted his still ill tempered horseand left the men gaping in silence. Marks and Collins dared not speak until he called for a stop long after dark. Neither man complained about the lack of coffee. Frist's camp had been a welcome sight.

Inside the cabin, embers smoldered in the crude fireplace. Mingo laid his gun on the sagging mattress of the room's lone bed before tossing two logs on the fire. Exhausted, he collapsed on the hard chair next to the smoking blaze, resting his head on his hands then lost himself in thoughts of Jemima Kathleen.

* * *

Daniel Boone walked slowly toward the cabin hidden in the long shadows of the fading day. Now that the man he sought was just ahead behind the weathered door, what was he going to say?

He made good time on the trail, much better than Mingo and his companions by the looks of what he found along the way. The table and chairs and other items strewn down the hillside still puzzled him. At first, he feared the group had been set upon, however there were no bodies and the tracks continued…minus the dead mule.

At the door, he paused and a boiling fury welled inside him. Boone pushed it back. He would keep his temper and, because of who Mingo had once been to him and his family, he would at least hear Mingo out. Even so, he was first and foremost Jemima's father. Without a second's hesitation, he would tear apart _any_ man who hurt her...Mingo included.

He grabbed the worn leather strap that served as a handle and yanked it open, then stepped inside.

By the fire, sat Mingo, head down.

"Well, you 'pert near made me walk clear up to Canada to find you," Boone snapped, his rage simmering just below the surface of his words.

Mingo turned with a start and half rose from his seat.

"Daniel! Why are you-" Mingo stopped then sat. He looked away to the barely glowing coals, ashamed, and for a long moment neither man spoke.

"How is she?" Mingo asked quietly.

Boone slammed the door shut, and then crossed to the dying fire. Bending, he pitched two logs on it causing sparks to fly wildly. Danged if he was going to freeze to death now after tramping five days in the frozen mountains! He dragged a nearby stool closer with his foot and then dropped onto the seat, a loaded Ticklicker across his lap.

"Mis'rable," he replied curtly, watching Mingo. It took all Boone's effort to keep his anger at bay and not strike out at the man who'd hurt his daughter.

Mingo drew a deep breath then leaned forward. His long, black hair fell over his shoulders as he stared at the floor.

Boone wondered impatiently if Mingo was going to answer. Suddenly, the Indian looked up at him, eyes dark with a misery and hurt Boone had never seen before in the one he previously thought of as a brother. A pang of concern for Mingo hit him in his midsection; Boone shoved it aside.

"Daniel, I _am_ sorry," Mingo said, his voice rough. He looked back to the licking flames, again silent.

Exhaling noisily, Boone stretched his long legs as near the blaze as he dared and shifted his weight on the hard stool. He was tired, hungry as a bear, damp-chilled to the bone, and of no mind to coax Mingo into talking.

"Becky saw you kiss 'Mima," he said sharply, not taking his eyes off Mingo.

Boone saw Mingo stiffen, then slump back against the slat-backed chair.

"Daniel, I…I never meant to hurt her. I do care, despite…" Mingo shook his head and sighed. "Rebecca should have shot me and saved you the trip."

Mingo fell silent and Boone waited, but the only sounds were the pop and hiss of the fire and the muffled voices of men outside the log walls as they put the horses away for the night.

"Are you going to sit there and tell me you have _feelin's_ for 'Mima?" Boone demanded scornfully, his patience gone. Mingo's head came up, meeting his gaze.

"Yes, I do," he quickly replied. No matter the consequences, he would have Daniel know he truly cared about Jemima Kathleen. His voice was just above a whisper. "Heaven help me, but I do love her."

Boone sat up straighter. Mingo's answer was a shock, one he didn't at all expect. His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head to one side. "An' jes' how long have you felt this a'way 'bout my daughter?"

For a long moment, Mingo did not answer. With a deep breath, he twisted in the rickety chair to face his friend.

"I cannot say for certain… since she returned from Williamsburg…perhaps my feelings for Kath-, for Jemima were more than simple friendship even before then," he began, his voice low. Mingo paused, spreading his hands before him as if to capture words to express how he felt in his heart. "I realized I longed to be with Jemima, that I felt empty without her."

Mingo leaned forward slightly, willing the words to come, willing Daniel to understand. "I wanted to share everything with her- the heavens at night, the world awakening at dawn… my thoughts… my hopes and dreams. I wanted the same from her."

Silently, Boone stared at Mingo with a fierceness that had caused many a man to back down in fear. Mingo did not flinch; he did not look away.

"Daniel, please believe me," Mingo begged, struggling, the words harder now. "I never intended-"

_"You were triflin' with my daughter's feelin's!"_ Boone ground out between clenched teeth, his hands tightening on Ticklicker. He'd heard enough.

"No! No, I wouldn't!" Mingo shook his head and began again. "I knew that we could not…I knew one day she would… marry another and I would have to leave, but-"

"You _did_ leave," Boone countered bluntly.

Mingo's words were barely audible. "Yes, I did."

"Mind explainin' why?" Boone barked, his jaw as tight as a trap.

"I had to or I might have said…Jemima was confused and crying and…Daniel, I would have done _anything_ to take that hurt from her."

Mingo ran his fingers through his bangs and looked at Boone, pleading for him to understand. "I would have done anything except tell her how I felt. I could not do that, no matter how much I wanted to."

Boone glared at him, his fury mounting. "So, out of this so-called _love_ fer 'Mima, you left her cryin' an-"

Mingo shot to his feet, his chair crashing backwards.

_"What else could I do?"_ he shouted bitterly. "Tell her my heart is hers… tell her she is the only joy I have in this miserable half-life I live?"

Mingo paced two steps away then turned back to Boone.

"Should I tell your daughter that I love her? Should I tell her she is my only hope for happiness? Should I speak the words of my heart even though I dare not dream of a future with her? _Is that what you would have me do, Daniel?_"

Boone did not answer.

"No! You know it isn't! I cannot because of what_ I am!_"

Mingo swung around, his back to Boone, his breathing ragged as his own inner battle raged within. After several minutes, when calmer, he turned to face the only man, in truth, to befriend him.

Boonewas staringat the fire. Mingo cleared his throat.

"Daniel, I am truly sorry," he said quietly.

Slowly, Boone lifted his gaze to meet Mingo's, but did not speak.

"I planned to return to Jemima and try to…make amends but this-" Mingo waved a hand toward the camp outside "-came up and I was unable to."

Boone continued to stare at Mingo, silent.

"I care deeply for your daughter, but I never meant for my feelings to be known. I knew there was no future for me with Jemima," Mingo continued, pulling himself up tall and straight. "Please believe me, Daniel. I never meant to hurt Jemima Kathleen and I will do whatever I must to set things right."

Rubbing his hand across his stubbly jaw, Boone said nothing for a long moment. He shook his head slowly.

"A man hopes th' best fer his daughter," he began heavily, "an' I know 'Mima always had a fon'ness for you, but as for it bein' anythin' else…I…I can't rightly say I ever imagined...I never thought…"

Words came slowly to Boone. What he saw so clearly before, was now more akin to mud.

Fists clenched against the pain in his heart from Daniel's words, Mingo closed his eyes as Boone continued. "Seems t' me th' whole sit'ation has brought ev'rybody nothin' but pure mis'ry. I think you'd best go-"

The sharp crack of muskets interrupted him, followed by a shout.

_"They got th' gold!"_


	3. part 3 end

My Dearest Friend 

Part 3

In two long strides, Mingo crossed to his gun and powder. Flinging the door open, he headed between the cabins toward the shouting, with Daniel on his heels.

"They took th' gold! They be gittin' away!" a man yelled. Mingo caught a glimpse of a figure fleeing on horseback with a half dozen others close behind. A shot rang out and a ball nicked the post beside him, spraying bits of wood in his face.

Mingo ran to the nearest horse, a chestnut tied to a low branch, and flipped the reins free. Behind him, he could hear shouts from the camp as men spilled from the cabins along with Daniel, who was calling his name. Reaching to take hold of the animal's neck, he jumped, pulling himself up onto the horse's bare back, and then dug his heels into the animal's sides.

Slushy mud flew from the horse's hooves. Holding his rifle in his left hand, Mingo leaned close against the horse's neck to avoid a low hanging branch as he urged the animal around the bend. The last rider in the group was in sight, but even if his gun were loaded, he doubted he could make the shot.

The horse thundered under him as the path straightened. A thin branch scraped across his face, catching the corner of his right eye. He blinked and opened his eyes wider in an effort to see past the sudden blurriness and not lose sight of the thieves.

Ahead, the group slowed as they came to a stream then charged across to the opposite bank, to the north. The path became wetter and the chestnut slipped, causing Mingo to ease back on the reins.

Splashing into the shallow, ice-crusted water, Mingo quickly looked to his right, then left. A glint of light through the trees made him pull hard on the leather straps held tightly in his right hand. The horse wheeled, his footing unsure, but Mingo kept his gaze focused as he peered into the darkness. There was another glint downstream and, ignoring the main group, Mingo turned the animal to the left, westward, and kicked it to a run.

Frigid water soaked his soft boots and pant legs as icy droplets sprayed about him. Nearing where he'd seen the reflection, he tugged gently on the reins and carefully inspected the bank on his right as the horse slowed to a walk. It was thick with brush. A little further on, he found a trampled area, glistening with dampness in the dim light. He urged the animal over and it heaved itself up onto the bank.

A few yards beyond the stream, the brush gave way to woodland and Mingo stopped for a moment to load his gun, his fingers stiff with cold. But for the snorting of his horse, there was silence around him; he was alone.

The main group of thieves, Mingo was certain, was likely heading north to draw the militia away while others carrying the gold, the ones he pursued, would circle around to rejoin them later. When the militia and Daniel came after him, they would head north, along the main trail, unaware. But, there was not enoughtime for him to return and alert them.

At the press of his heels, the horse began to pick its way through the low undergrowth, the wind rising. He'd follow on, by himself.

Half an hour later, he reached the edge of a clearing. Clouds gathered overhead and sleet began to fall, filling the air with a soft tapping sound as the hard pellets hit bare trunks and dead leaves on the ground. He squinted, ducking his head against its sting. From a break in the clouds, there was enough light to see, and as best as he could tell, the clearing went on for at least a mile to the west, perhaps even more beyond the rise that lay before him.

While considering his options, Mingo stretched his back in an effort to ease the stiffness. If he entered the clearing, he would be in the open and easily seen, but hugging the forest's edge in safety would cause him to fall further behind and he would have little hope of catching up to those he followed. He glanced about the area and took a deep breath of the cold air.

There was little choice. Mingo urged the horse forward.

After an hour's ride, the northerly wind and sleet began to lessen, and with the clouds thinning somewhat, it was easier to see. The horse snorted noisily as Mingo reined it to a stop. Although he'd come several miles without sighting anyone, he sat up tall, eyes carefully raking the surrounding gray haze in search of movement.

Fingers tingling from the cold, he bent his left arm to pull his gun closer and heard the crack of ice coating his sleeve. Mingo laid the gun across his lap, along with the reins, and wiped the slush off his face with his hands.

Moonlight shone through a break in the clouds and the area suddenly became lighter. Nothing moved in the distance. He exhaled deeply, a white fog appearing then dissipating from his breath. He would have to turn back. They could try to pick up a trail at daylight unless it snowed, covering the tracks. There would be little hope then.

The gap in the clouds closed and he leaned down to gather one of the leather straps that had fallen then patted the heaving animal's neck. As he gently tugged on the reins, turning the horse to his left to return to Frist's camp, Mingo noticed the gray shape of boulders…and saw an unmistakable flash followed by the musket's report.

He kicked the horse, but the metal ball cut deep into his upper left shoulder, nearly knocking him off his mount. Gun falling to the ground, he threw himself forward, grasping at the horse's mane in an effort to hold on as the frightened horse bolted, but he could not and fell hard onto the rocky ground, landing on his side.

Daggers of pain pierced his chest as he drew a breath. Rolling onto his back, he struggled to draw air into his lungs. He heard hoof beats. The pounding drew closer, stopped.

Someone came near, grass crunching underfoot. A shape leaned over him and he felt the hard barrel of a gun press against his chest where his jacket was thrown open. Grayness licked at the edge of his vision and Mingo fought to stay conscious.

* * *

"It be a lousy injun!" the stocky man grunted in a raspy voice. Without moving his gun from the Indian's chest, the man kicked where he thought he'd find ribs and was satisfied to hear a gasp of pain for his effort. "Eh, ye got mo' yer filthy frien's wid ye?" 

There was no answer and the man carefully stepped away, turning his head in search of others, but saw none. He wondered why an Indian had followed him and not one of the guards. What would an Indian care if the gold disappeared?

The man's horse pawed at the ground, and he jerked on the reins wrapped around his fist. It wouldn't do for him to lose his horse- and the gold- in this awful weather.

He looked around again. He had heard and seen only one rider- probably nobody else had followed. Why this one hadn't crossed the river after his men he didn't know, but the Indian wasn't going anywhere. The area lightened for a moment and he leaned as close as he dared.

"Gonna sen' ye t' yer heathen god- how ye like that!" he crowed, pointing his gun at the Indian who lay at his feet.

The thief pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

"Blasted wet powder!" he hissed. He stepped back in disgust, reaching for his knife. He could slit the heathen's throat, but would have to get close- a lot closer than he wanted to. Even dying, a wild Indian could still fight and he had the ugly scar across his gut to prove it.

The man licked his lips nervously -too much time wasted already. He could see the bloody chest, could hear the labored breathing of the Indian. There was no need to risk getting close; the heathen would be dead by daylight- sooner, if lucky.

"Ye ain't a' goin' nowheres," he spat before quickly climbing onto his horse. He reached back to check the bags of gold tied to his saddle, then whipped the horse into a run.

* * *

Through a icy, dark fog, Mingo heard muffled hoofbeats fading. He struggled to breathe as fire tore through his lungs. Gasping a wet, choking breath, he rolled over onto his side, drawing his legs up against the pain. 

Cold was seeping into his body; his feet and hands already numb. _At least I am not dead,_ Mingo thought, rousing to full awareness. Something soft and cold touched his face and he slowly opened his eyes. Another landed on his lashes and he blinked.

Snow.

He closed his eyes and groaned as more icy flakes landed delicately around him, on him. It would cover his tracks; no one would be able to find him.

Without help, he would die.

_Bleeding to death alone is what I deserve_, Mingo thought bitterly. He had betrayed the only two people to befriend him and hurt the woman he loved with all his heart.

The wind stirred, slicing through his body, bringing his focus back to the pain. Brushing away the wetness from his eyes with a shaking hand, he barely made out the mass of boulders nearby.

With his right arm, Mingo pulled weakly at a clump of dead grass and pushed with his feet, edging a few inches closer to the rocks. Struggling, he reached out again and yet again for the boulders and what shelter they could give until the pain faded, his eyes closed, and, with a final vision of a tearful Jemima Kathleen, he felt the cold and hurt no more.

* * *

Daniel raised the worn metal cup to his lips and let steam from the strong, black coffee warm his face before taking a sip. Upstairs, he could hear Jemima softly crying. He looked to Rebecca. 

"Isn't there anythin' I can do?" he asked, with a heavy sigh.

His wife shook her head. Rebecca reached across the scrubbed, planked table where her family and Mingo had sat for so many meals together and took her husband's rough hand in hers.

"No, you did everything you could, Dan," she answered quietly.

"Wish I knew that fer cert'in." He set the cup down then covered Becky's hand with his.

"You followed the trail as far as possible- you stayed four days searching on your own after-" she faltered for a moment, then took a breath and continued, "-after the horse was found. What more could you do?"

Daniel was quiet. Once Frist's men had gotten horses from the camp's lean-to shed, he and the militia followed the thieves across the river for two days. The militia was looking for any sign of the gold, he was looking for a glimpse of Mingo. They found neither.

On his own, he had turned south to scour yet again the snowy hills and valleys as best he could. The snow, deepening by the hour, made it nearly impossible to search, much less travel.

Upon his return to the militia's camp, he learned the horse Mingo rode out on was found three miles northwest of camp, streaked with dried blood. There was no wound on the animal…the blood must have been Mingo's. Alone, he rode out to comb route to the north the thieves had taken from camp, concentrating on the immediate area. Still, he found no sign of Mingo.

By the end of the week, the snowdrifts prevented any further searching and forced him to the eastern side of the mountain range in order to head south. He returned home to his family a little over three weeks after leaving. Daniel sighed.

"I just keep thinkin' that if we'd done or said somethin' diff'rent to Mingo, this whole situation might never have happened," he explained.

Mingo's words by the fire came back to him- _what_ he was, not who. It stung mightily to admit that when Mingo asked if openly declaring his feelings to Jemima was what he would want, Daniel did not have an answer.

While searching the hills and on the long, cold walk home, Daniel did a powerful lot of thinking about what Mingo said. He thought about his own anger at learning of Mingo's feelings for Jemima, as well.

Mainly, Daniel tried to convince himself that his rage was from being caught off guard. Being surprised in a situation never put him in a good mood andMingo's confession had surprised him mightily.

Still, he had always kept his temper in other, difficult circumstances. In the end, Daniel was forced to admit that Mingo's words had an uncomfortable ring of truth to them.

That had hurt worst of all.

Daniel considered himself a fair man, even prided himself on it. He had fought and risked his life at times for others acceptance- often Mingo's- among the closed-minded settlers and traders. A man should practice what he preached and Daniel tried hard. Yet, when faced with Mingo's question, he had no answer. Maybe if he'd had some inkling…

"Becky, were you s'prised at how Mingo and 'Mima felt 'bout each other?"

Rebecca turned her gaze to the fireplace. On the mantle were two of the books Mingo had given to Jemima. Cinncinatus confided to her that it took Mingo a year to get that first poetry book for Jemima, asking traders who were heading east if they could acquire one for him. Most looked at Mingo as if he had lost all sense, but he persisted until he found a man willing to search out a bookseller in exchange for not an inconsiderable number of furs.

She thought of Jemima's seventeenth birthday. Mingo gave her two more books, delighting her daughter to no end. From the bed she shared with Dan, a gap in the curtains gave her a view of them sitting on the rug by the fire, heads together, bent over the volumes. The two talked late into the night and she had fallen asleep knowing Jemima was safe.

Too, there was the early morning she awoke from a short, uneasy rest to find her daughter asleep at Mingo's side with her hand on his, exhausted from caring for their injured friend. Jemima did not leave him the entire time he was unconscious and stayed close by, attentive and patient, during the following weeks as Mingo recovered.

Becky had seen those same worried, tearful eyes light up in happiness every time Mingo entered their home. Even so, she was certain Jemima had not realized her feelings were more than a deep friendship for Mingo.

When Jemima returned from Williamsburg, Rebecca saw a change, albeit a subtle one, in Mingo's behavior. He watched Jemima only to look away suddenly, as if ill at ease or unsure of himself. Whereas he had teased her in the past, he no longer did, other than to make the occasional gentle comment bringing a smile to her daughter's lips.

As he distanced himself from Jemima, Mingo drew away from her and Dan in small ways, too. He hesitated when asked to stay for dinner and seemed more thoughtful, sometimes restrained, when talking. He also spent more time trapping or hunting alone. Dan, of course, brushed it off when she mentioned it, but Rebecca was sure of what she saw.

The reason for Mingo's behavior became apparent only when she inadvertently saw them embrace and kiss. She should have known - Jemima's reluctance to marry…Mingo's growing silence and distance. Most of all, though, was the way they looked at each other.

Always, even if unknowingly, Mingo and Jemima saw each other through eyes filled with love. Rebecca knew because when Dan looked at her, she saw the same expression in her husband's eyes.

"No, not really," she answered finally, turning back to Daniel. "Maybe I didn't see it clearly before, but I can't say I was surprised."

"I had no idea Mingo felt that way 'bout Jemima…no idea a'tall!" Daniel said critically. _How had he failed to see it?_ His best friend had been in love with his daughter, and she with him…and he'd known nothing of it.

All the time they spent walking side by side over hundreds of miles, nights talking by the campfire, yet Mingo never said a word.

Had Mingo wanted to? Had he been afraid to?

One night last summer, Daniel admitted his disappointment to Mingo that Jemima did not meet anyone in Williamsburg. In addition, she had already refused Jericho and Silas Cummings, both good, honest men. Never dreaming Mingo harbored such feelings for Jemima, Daniel continued, saying there were few men to choose from in Ken Tuckee and he could not think of any man in the area he wanted to see his daughter wed. He added he hoped Jemima would not let another opportunity pass, should a suitable man from a respectable family offer.

Mingo said little in reply other than to wish him goodnight before rolling up in his blanket and turning on his side, away from him.

Had Mingo rightly taken that as a sign his mixed parentage wasn't acceptable? Had he made Mingo feel less than equal?

What had it been like for his friend, in love yet ashamed to speak of his feelings?

Thinking of how much he loved his own wife and how empty his life would be without Becky, Daniel shut his eyes, his head bowed.

He'd failed his friend; he'd failed his daughter.

"I'd give 'bout _anythin'_ fer a second chance," Daniel said quietly, bringing his gaze up to meet Rebecca's. He shook his head. Then, thinking not just about Mingo, but also himself, he added, "You think you know a body…"

"A person's heart can be hard to read, especially when it is guarded closely," Rebecca replied with a sad, thoughtful expression. "I thought Mingo knew how we felt about him. There's nothing we could have done differently, Dan."

"Maybe you're right," he conceded, wanting with all his heart to believe what she said was true, but unable to. He rubbed Rebecca's hand absently. Above them, Jemima's sobs were quieter. Daniel hoped she could get some sleep. It had been a rough evening for them all.

He placed both hands on the table and pushed, coming to his feet. Rebecca rose and came around the table to stand beside him. She wrapped her arms around his middle; Daniel held her close. Over her head, he looked at the dying fire.

"Still, it's not much comfort. Not much a'tall."

* * *

Eyes barely open, Mingo lay still and looked around. White. Everything was white. At the edge of his vision, he could see figures moving and they were white, too. 

_I must be dead_, he reasoned. He saw the figures come closer…angels? He blinked in the harsh light- no, not angels- Creeks. He let his eyes close.

He was in Hell.

It was only fitting, he admitted, as the whiteness faded. It was only what he deserved. Mingo sighed with painful acceptance and lost awareness.

* * *

"And what are we to do with him?" the woman quietly asked the man at her side, in their native Creek language. The Cherokee's eyes had opened briefly, without his speaking. He was still breathing and so she knew he was not dead. 

She stepped closer to get a better look at the man who lay half-curled in the rock's protective hollow. His shoulder and chest were caked with drying blood. He was large with thick arms and legs- a strong man. His face was unmarked by disease or injury, and there was a look of intelligence about him.

At his side were a knife and a long, leather strap- a whip. She drew back, fearful. She'd heard of men taking members of other tribes away to be slaves for white settlers on the flatland farms.

"We can take him back, give help as we are able," the man replied simply, pulling his ragged blanket tighter about his shoulders. The sun did little to warm the air.

The woman thought. Banished from their tribe, they had little to offer but a crude camp. Still, the Cherokee covered with blood before them had even less. The injured man would freeze to death if no one provided help. With a serious injury and having been out in the cold, it was surprising the wounded Indian was still alive. They could share their meager comforts with him.

Was this not what the white teacher said they were to do? Why did they endure exile if they were not going to follow the teachings of the white man's book about the Great Spirit called God?

They would help him, she decided. Cautiously, she leaned closer and touched the unconscious man, then stepped back, quickly. He did not stir.

With difficulty, her husband managed to lift the Cherokee across his shoulder and stood. He made sure of his footing, and then nodded to his wife. Silently, she turned, leading the way to their camp in a cave, west of the meadow. She offered a prayer that they were not too late to save the Indian whose name they did not know.

* * *

Israel pulled his arm back then swung with all his might. _Thwack!_ Dust flew from the heavy, multi-colored rag rug. He screwed his face up in concentration and then hauled back for another blow. 

"Israel, please be careful of it," his sister said, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no emotion in her words and no trace of displeasure crossed her features.

"Gotta get the dust out," he answered, and laid into the rug again, watching his sister as he did. She wrung the soapy curtain then dropped it into the bucket of clean water heated over the morning's fire. Steam curled from the water- there was still a hard chill to the air. Israel wondered if his ma's earlier than normal spring-cleaning was a way to keep his sister busy. It was sure keeping him busy.

"I worked a long time on that," she murmured. "Please do not hit it so hard."

Israel frowned. For almost two months now, Jemima had been sad and quiet. He couldn't get a rise out her no matter how he tried. She never got angry anymore; she never smiled or laughed, either.

Something had happened, but he wasn't sure what. Israel only knew it happened about the time Mingo left and didn't return. Three weeks later, Pa came home and said their friend was dead. Ma and Jemima cried. He did too, but tried to hide it. He was too old to cry- he was nearly a man.

He missed Mingo. Israel sighed and whacked the rug again, harder. This time Jemima said nothing.

Mingo had been a second pa to him- showing him how to do all sorts of useful things in the forest, even teaching him how to use the bullwhip. It always hurt him to see the scar on Mingo's arm caused by his own stubborn foolishness. The cut barely healed, Mingo had taken him to a clearing away from the cabin- and Ma- to teach him how to use the whip properly. Mingo had a way of talking to him that didn't make him feel dumb or like a child.

Israel enjoyed the times when Mingo read stories in the evening, at the cabin. It was even something he had looked forward to. Jemima and Mingo were always talking about books. He wasn't so partial to them himself, but Mingo made them come alive. Now Mingo was never coming back. Israel bit his lip to make it stop trembling.

Everything had changed. The cabin was too quiet. Ma spoke softer now, especially to his sister and she had a sad look as she watched Jemima go silently about her chores. Ma didn't fuss no matter what he did. A scolding or whippin'– any kind of response from Ma like before would be better than the quiet correction and hug before sending him back to his work.

Even Pa was different, Israel thought. He looked older and tired, didn't joke like before. Sometimes Pa sat staring at the fire just lost in thought, as if he was pondering something hard to figure out. He didn't talk as much now, either.

It worried Israel. It worried him a lot.

He gave the rug another blow, then decided it was aired enough and pulled it from where it hung over the lower limb of the oak tree. The edges dragged the ground and he was sure his sister would make a fuss over the dirt. He hoped Jemima would, but she just kept washing the red-checkered curtains.

Israel unrolled a smaller throw rug and tossed it over the limb, pulling at the edges to straighten it. It was over six weeks since Pa had come home with the news about Mingo. He wondered if things would ever be back to normal, then decided it couldn't because Mingo was gone.

Israel bent to pick up the willow rug beater he'd tossed aside. As he stood, he spotted something moving in the woods beyond the clearing and froze, gaping at the familiar shape.

_Mingo!_

* * *

The trail was one Mingo had walked hundreds of times and he knew it well. Down the hill, just beyond the rock outcropping was the Boone cabin…and Jemima Kathleen. 

He leaned his musket against a rock and absently rubbed his shoulder, which ached from the lingering cold in the air. The wound had healed, for the most part, but the pain remained and he could not yet raise his arm above chest height. Perhaps when the weather warmed it would heal further.

If not, it mattered little.

Life held nothing to look forward to. He had no place to go, no friends, and no possibility for happiness.

There was only one reason for his return- he would see Kathleen and make sure she was all right. How he could make amends, Mingo did not know, but come what may, he would try.

Daniel and Rebecca would surely be angry; he only hoped Jemima Kathleen could find forgiveness in her heart for him.

He could not live knowing Jemima Kathleen hated him.

Mingo flexed his arm, working out some of the tightness before retrieving his musket. Lone Owl had found it in the meadow and rubbed the gun with grease to protect it. The Indian couple nursed him back to health, sharing their scant food supply with him. He owed them his life, such as it was.

After speaking with Jemima Kathleen and her parents, he decided he would collect the money Cinncinatus owed him for furs sold earlier in the winter and buy shot, powder, and supplies, and then leave. He would take provisions to Lone Owl and White Deer and insist on their accepting specie for later use. After that, he did not know. He would deal with the future later.

Gathering his courage, Mingo set off, rounding the bend in the trail, past the stand of Poplars and over the small run that filled to overflowing when the spring rains came. He descended the shallow slope where blackberry vines would soon burst with white blossoms, and steeled his heart for whatever Daniel and Rebecca had to say.

He deserved their anger and mistrust. He deserved far worse from Kathleen.

Heart pounding, Mingo stepped into the clearing… and saw her. There was a shout and he heard his name called as Israel ran toward him. Mingo willed his legs to move and without taking his eyes from Jemima Kathleen, walked across the yard to where she stood, stopping several paces away.

His gun fell against a stack of cut wood. Israel squeezed his hand then ran off to the cabin, his whoops of joy bringing Rebecca and Daniel to the porch, asking their son what was the matter.

Mingo turned to look at them, but no words came. Rebecca wiped her eyes; Daniel stared.

"Please, may I speak to your daughter?" Mingo finally managed.

After gently pushing Israel toward the cabin door, Rebecca took her husband's arm. Daniel made as if to say something then simply nodded.

Mingo turned back to Kathleen and slowly covered the distance between them, coming to stand two arm length's away.

Water dripped down her arms from the wet rag she clutched to her breast, and she wore a faded apron with a frayed shawl, her hair tied back in an old rag. To Mingo, she had never looked more beautiful.

She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly. Mingo looked away briefly as he remembered how soft they'd felt against his own. He drew a deep breath and began.

"Kathleen…I am very sorry for the hurt I've caused you. Truly, I never meant to hurt you. I would rather die than hurt you."

Tears coming to her eyes, she said nothing.

"I had no right to say what I did or…kiss you. If you can, Kathleen, I beg you to forgive my forward behavior."

"Then, you did not mean what you said?" she asked, her words barely above a whisper.

"I never meant to say such things to you," he replied, though he'd meant them with all his heart.

"And our kiss…you do not… care for me?" Tears were running down her cheeks.

Mingo felt his heart ache. How could he explain? He stepped closer and lifted his hand to brush the tears away then stopped, knowing that if he touched her, this time he would not be able to let her go.

"Kathleen, I care for you more than anything in this world, but-"

"And I care for you- _I love you!_"

"You and I…we should not-" Mingo stopped, taken aback as her words sank in. He shook his head, desperate for her to comprehend what he was trying to say. "No, Kathleen, we _cannot_…"

She dropped the wet material and came to him, taking his hands. His were rough and dark; hers were soft and fair. She held them tightly between her own.

"Mingo, I don't understand!"

"We should not…there are reasons…" The ache increased, his throat tightened. "What reasons? Why should we be apart?"

"Our being together…is not right."

"You do not wish to be in my company?"

"You are a joy..." _...my only joy._

"I see no reason why we can't-"

"I…I have no home to offer you," he interrupted, barely able to think straight.

"Can you not build one?" she countered.

She was so close... he could smell fragrance of the herbsfrom her soap and he thought of how soft hercheek had felt against his.He raised his head, looking away to the trees...anything but Kathleen, trying to clear his thoughts, to remember the reasons that kept them apart. "I am older than you."

"Do you still think of me as a child?" she asked. He could hear the hurt in her voice.

"No!" Mingo shook his head. "No, you are not a child, Kathleen."

"Is age so important between hearts?" she asked, holding his hands to her chest. Through her thin dress, he could feel the warmth of her on his fingers.

"You might wish for someone your own age-" _This was unbearable!_

"If that were so, I've had ample opportunity," she replied impatiently.

"No one would approve-"

"Do you choose actions based on other's opinions?" she asked in disbelief.

"It would be difficult for you if…" His words trailed off. _Please, God, help her understand!_

"Not if we are together. You have not given me one good reason!" Kathleen's frustration was turning to anger. "You say that I am not a child, yet you do not think I am capable of making my own decisions or knowing my own heart! I don't understand! Mingo, there isno reason we can't-"

Mingo pulled his hands from hers, stumbling away.

_"Can't you see? I am an Indian!"_ he said desperately, spreading his arms out wide before letting them fall to his sides. "I am despised and looked down upon by my own father's blood! On any given day, there is someone in Boonesborough who wouldn't think twice of killing me for what I am- and two more men who would gladly help!"

Jemima Kathleen's eyes widened. On the porch, Rebecca tightened her hold on Daniel's arm.

"I can not truly be a member of my mother's world, either. I am mistrusted and my actions are always suspect. In the eyes of my own people, I am worse than a half-breed, for I have lived as an Englishman!"

He lifted his hands, pleading for her to understand. "I live between two worlds as best I can, Kathleen. There's little joy…there's little hope. Please, listen to me! I cannot have you brought down to such an existence. _I will not_."

Jemima Kathleen looked at him steadily, a determined fire flaring to life in her eyes. He had thought her beautiful before…now she was breathtaking.

"I do not care what other people think," she said, slowly advancing toward to him, "and I do not care who your parents are or if you are fourteen years older than I. I do not care if we live under the sky by day and sleep under the stars by night! I love you for who you are, Mingo, and nothing will ever change that!"

She stopped in front of him. Her look softened and she placed her hand gently on his arm. "_Please_, Mingo, listen to what I am saying."

"Kathleen, we cannot." He took her hands in his, holding them tightly. "I want you to have a life that is _better_ than the one I can give you.I...care about you."

"And _I love you_. I want to share my life with you…only you," she whispered.

Dear God, he wanted her; she was all he wanted. How could he fight this? Mingo touched her cheek with his fingers.

Could he walk away and leave her forever?

She was his life.

He could not.

With a sigh, Mingo wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "I have little to offer," he said quietly as she embraced him in return. "I have nothing to give you."

"I only want your love. It will be enough."

He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against her hair. "You have my love, Jemima Kathleen-"

_Boone_.

Mingo looked to the porch where her parents stood, Daniel leaning on Ticklicker. If Daniel were going to shoot him, now would be the time to do it. He released Kathleen and took a step away from her. He swallowed, took a breath.

"Rebecca…Daniel…I have no right to ask…"

He waited, but Daniel did not answer.

* * *

Deep in thought, Daniel silently leaned Ticklicker against the porch rail, then, with Rebecca at his side, slowly crossed the yard to the couple. He stood in front of his daughter, watching her intently. 

"'Mima, are you _cert'in_ this is what you want?" Daniel asked gently, taking her hands in his. In her eyes, he saw a woman in love, one who would hold onto that love come what may. He blinked quickly- she was so much like her mother. He wondered if Mingo knew just how special Jemima was.

She smiled. "Yes, Pa, with all my heart."

Daniel sucked in a deep breath and nodded. It was the answer he'd expected, but somehow, it was still hard to hear. Letting go of his daughter was harder than he expected. He smiled at her, to reassure himself as much as Jemima. "I know."

He squeezed Jemima's hands then released them. She was no longer his little girl- her heart belonged to another.

He turned to face Mingo, who waited uncertainly. Daniel looked at his friend as if he could see into the very soul of the man who would claim Jemima's heart. After a long moment, Daniel was sure.

"Take care of my daughter, Mingo. She's-" He stopped suddenly, unable to continue.

"I will…with all my heart," Mingo answered, looking from Daniel to Rebecca.

Daniel nodded andcleared his throat, blinking rapidly.

"I know you will." He cleared his throat again and put his arm around his wife. An immense weight lifted from his heart and Daniel smiled as he watched Mingo take Jemima's hand.

"Well,Mingo, I'd say you got things 'pert near straightened out. What's missin' is your kissin' my daughter and askin' her t'marry you."

Mingo and Jemima looked at each other with pure joy.

Daniel turned awayandled Rebecca to the cabin then stopped at the steps. He hefted Ticklicker before turning back to the pair. Daniel motioned toward them with the tip of his gun and grinned.

"Now, you two jus' stay out here in the cold fer as long as you want to."

Wiping away a tear, Rebecca laughed as her husband pulled herup the step, ontothe porch where Israel stood peeking around the corner. In the doorway, Rebecca stopped to look over her shoulder at Mingo and Jemima, now wrapped in each other's arms.

"Mingo," Rebecca called sweetly.

He looked up.

"Welcome to the family!"

* * *

_I hope you have enjoyed this. If so, please leave a review or drop me an email. There will be a sequel...eventually!_


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